


Lay You Down to Rest

by shutterbug



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Cute, Ficlet, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Boys, Sweet, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 21:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug
Summary: Reid can't sleep and seeks out Jackson's help.





	Lay You Down to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all who read and comment. It means so much to me.

Jackson had raided Reid’s bookshelves hours earlier and still browsed the pages of _Native Flora of the South of England_ when Reid, like a bleary-eyed apparition, appeared in the doorway.  Jackson laid the book face-down on the table and raised his eyebrows at his silent visitor. Reid wore an open, maroon robe that fell to his ankles, knee-length drawers underneath. Jackson noticed how the ends of his hair had curled in his sleep.

“I can’t sleep,” Reid announced.

Or _not._ Jackson watched Reid shift his weight from one bare foot to the other. “And what d’you expect me to do about that?”

Reid’s eyes scanned the floor as if he’d dropped his answer there. Jackson heard him exhale from across the room before he mumbled, “Do you not know of any, uh, treatments that could be useful? Herbs? Tonics?”

Jackson’s curiosity stirred, not due to Reid’s actual request--everyone had trouble with sleep from time to time--but the manner in which he voiced it. Reid slumped against the doorframe with his eyes averted, reluctant to enter a room in his own _house._ Men don’t act like _that_ without a reason, and that reason wasn’t sleeplessness.

“Sure do,” Jackson answered.

Reid raised his head and stared at him, as if he expected more information. Then, receiving none, he spread his arms in the air. “Well?”

Jackson grinned. “ _Well_ ,” he taunted. “I can’t administer nothin’ when you’re hoverin’ in the doorway.” Jackson rubbed the cushion beside him. “Come ‘ere.”  

Reid crossed the room with all the speed of a crippled tortoise. Jackson reckoned he could have _crawled_ at a faster pace.

When Reid finally sat next to him, Jackson adopted as casual an air as possible. “So. Any inklin’ as to what’s robbin’ you of sleep?”

Reid drew a noisy breath and folded his hands in his lap. “I...that is, uh...” Reid swallowed with a noticeable bob of his throat. “That is a personal matter.”

Jackson turned toward him and gripped Reid’s knee. Reid tensed under his hand. “Jesus, Reid.” Jackson chuckled, unable to help himself. “You’re like a Littleneck steamer, you know that?”

Reid squinted at him, taken aback--and suddenly more natural and relaxed. “A what?”

Jackson released Reid’s knee. “A clam. Lives off the coast of Virginia. Well, all over the eastern seaboard, in fact, but I had ‘em in Virginia.” He waved his hand to derail his train of thought. “It don’t matter. Point is: how d’you expect me to treat you if I don’t know the cause of your symptoms?”

Reid frowned. Another drawn-out sigh. At last, he said, “My mind is preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“That's hardly relevant.”  

Jackson leaned back and made himself comfortable--legs stretched out in front of him, hands laced behind his head. “Perhaps not. Perhaps so,” he mused. “But let me ask you this, Reid. You a doctor?”

Reid rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Am _I_ a doctor?”

Through clenched teeth, Reid answered, “Yes.”

“That’s right, and that means _I’ll_ decide what’s relevant and what’s not.” With a sigh of his own, Jackson laid his hand on Reid’s shoulder and, with gentle pressure, forced Reid to twist his torso toward him and reposition his body on the sofa. Jackson let his hand slide down to Reid’s shoulder blade. “I want to help you, Reid.” Jackson’s voice softened, and he waited until Reid met his eyes before offering him a small smile. “What’s on my little mollusk’s mind?”  

Reid’s lips twitched, but he remained quiet. He tossed his gaze about the room. Huffed and sighed. Chewed on his bottom lip. All as if he were at some small war with himself.

Always makin’ more of a hoopla than necessary. Dramatic and, despite its use in police work, over-analytical. Opinions Jackson nearly voiced, but, after a moment’s consideration, kept to himself.

“Fine,” Jackson said, slapping his thighs. “Looks like it’s down to me to pry open that shell o’yours. You just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Jackson paused for Reid’s benefit--an opportunity to bail. When Reid stayed put, Jackson barreled on. “Been thinkin’ about your work?”

Reid shook his head.

“Not a ‘no,’ but that’ll do. What about, uh--you seen less of Drake lately, still in his honeymoon phase and all. That troublin’ you?”

“No, I am...happy for Bennet.” Reid sounded none too happy, but Jackson let it pass without comment. “It is not that.”

Reid stared at him with an unreadable expression. Jackson stared back, observing where Reid’s eyes roamed. His shoulders, his hands, his hair. His lips, more than once.

Many times, Jackson had done the same. He had surveyed Reid’s body, except _he_ had done it when he knew the action would not be noticed. He had studied Reid’s face in more than one stolen moment and had let his mind wander.

Jackson _knew_ what spurred that kind of visual exploration, and, despite Reid’s attempt to keep his face neutral, Jackson could have sworn to the holiest of deities that Reid’s problem was _him._ Li’l ole Jackson. Unless he had flown clear off his rocker and misread the entire situation. A real possibility, but only one way to be sure.

“Well,” Jackson said, scooting close to Reid. “What about--” He planted a kiss on Reid, its start quick and sudden. Jackson promptly slowed down and, with his hand on the back of Reid’s head, touched his lips to Reid’s with a careful, delicate _hint_ of a kiss. Then he eased Reid’s mouth open and, with each renewed kiss, slid his tongue past Reid’s lips. Reid returned his kiss, but moved only his mouth; his body remained stock-still.

As Jackson ended the kiss and pulled back, Reid spoke. “Yes,” he whispered, then finally moved, as if the confession behind his reply had lifted some burden from him and let him move freely. Reid tilted his head, reached for Jackson’s arms, and whispered another “yes” against his lips.

“Wait,” Jackson blurted, his hands on Reid's shoulders to keep him still. He searched Reid's eyes and detected a window of vulnerability--a crack in the clam shell. Jackson lunged to pry the shell wide open. “‘Yes,’ that’s what's been keepin' you awake? Or ‘yes,’ you, uh, liked that?”

Reid released a short puff of air. “Can it not be both?”

“Both?”

“Both.” Reid's face softened as he smiled, the first since he’d appeared in the room.

Jackson’s cheeks plumped with a wide, toothy smile. “Both it is,” he said, jolts of happy satisfaction pulsing through his body. He moved to the end of the couch, threw a pillow over his lap, and patted it. “Well, allow me to pull up a pillow for you, handsome, ‘cause I'm about to send you off to dreamland.”  

He invited Reid to lie down with a sideways jerk of his head. Even with bent knees, Reid barely fit across the sofa, but he made no complaints as Jackson ushered his head onto the pillow.

Neither of them said another word.

Jackson threw a blanket over Reid, who settled into a position on his side. Reid inhaled deeply when Jackson curved a hand around his shoulder, then relaxed with an exhale. Jackson smiled. He combed his other hand into Reid’s hair. Dark, thick strands shifted between his fingers as he stroked from Reid’s temple to the back of his head. He repeated the motion, then swept Reid’s hair off his forehead. Jackson allowed his fingers to meander, to draw wavy lines across the top of Reid’s head.

When his palm brushed Reid’s ear, he stopped. Reid shifted, and Jackson’s chest expanded with a rush of air as Reid’s hand slid under the pillow and onto his thigh. For a moment, they were both still. Reid stayed that way, but Jackson continued his caresses, one lazy, smooth stroke after another. Reid’s remaining tension dissolved under his touch. His breaths found a deep, steady rhythm. Jackson waited for the first deep-sleep twitch of Reid’s body before he lifted his hand from the crown of Reid’s head and let himself close his eyes.

The next morning, Jackson found Reid at the station’s main desk, bent over a newspaper. He had been disappointed to wake without him. “Reid,” he said, elbows on the desk.

“Jackson.”

“Good sleep?”

Reid closed the paper. “Indeed.” He stepped closer to add in a whisper, “Thank you, Jackson.” Reid met his eyes and, with the newspaper as his shield, clasped hold of Jackson’s hand, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed.

Well into the afternoon, Jackson could not force his God damned, stupid smile from his face.


End file.
